


Fantasy land

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, they both got a better sense of each others likes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy land

When you two settle down there are three empty beer cans between you and a nice flush on both your faces. The parents are gone, of course they are, you wouldn't have dared purchased the alcohol in the first place if they weren't, and you and your brother are tipsy. He more so. You watch from the corner of your eyes as he chugs back an empty beer and then brings the tab to his eye, shaking it around as if that would produce more of the cheap alcohol. It doesn't. He tosses it to the floor and his head rolls limp as he stares at you and the one beer you've been sipping all night. One of you has to be sober enough to clean the mess in the morning and Stanford doesn't look like the best contender.

He stares at you now, eyes a little unfocused, and you stare back, eyebrow raised. You can't tell if he's eyeing you or the can in your hand so you shake it in front of him a little, the liquid sloshing. His eyes seem to focus a little more with the sound. He crawls to where you lean against the headboard, his hands hesitating with each placement but he doesn't tip over on his side so that's good. He crawls to where you lean until he's on top of you, knees bent and spread on either side of your own.

You shake the beer at him again but he just pushes the hand aside. He's focused on you. You shrug and down the rest of it, letting the liquid burn down your throat and lull you before putting the can down with the rest of them. Then you place your hands across your belly and wait.

Stanford doesn't have you waiting for long. He touches your hands before he skims down to the edge of your shirt. He lifts it up and you let him until it reaches mid-torso, then you feel hands, still cold from handling cold beer, against your tummy fat. Those cold, broad hands wander to your love handles and then _squeezes_.

You squeak. Your eyes fly to Stanford's face to see what he's thinking but he's not looking at you. He's looking at your tummy fat, the fat he's touching mercilessly. You squirm, kicking whatever blankets that were on the bed to the can riddled floor. You feel sweat on your skin and it's ridiculous because Ford hasn't even touched you yet besides little pats and squeezes. You want Ford to touch more of you.

At least Ford doesn't look any better, his skin splotchy and flushed, his glasses crooked on his nose. Soon, he's letting your stomach go to tug at your pants. You hear the undoing of zippers, feel relief as your lower half can finally breathe in the tight pants you insist on wearing only because you know Stanford likes to check out your ass, and shimmy to help along with the removal, and groan as Stanford leaves your pants trapped around your knees and moves up to kiss you.

Its sloppy, the first real sign that Stanford's not as sober as he started off that night. Stanford Pines is a man of deliberation. On a regular night he would kiss you long and hard with shorter kisses between accompanied words of adoration. Not this slobbering tongue and cheek and hint of teeth. Stanley found he didn't mind, his brother needed to loosen up every once and a while.

Just as you get your pants off, fumbling while Ford nibbles on your neck - and you're quick to remind him not to leave any evidence, though your not sure what good that will do since your brother's too focused leaving audible kisses and licks -Stanford's hands come to squeeze your bare thighs. You moan and grip the bed sheets, too aware of the bulge your brother could squeeze a little bit higher. You lift your hips a little, dick already hard and sticking out of your underwear, silently begging to be taken cared for but Stanford's too consumed by your thighs. Squeezing, caressing, head bending down, and then licking your inner thighs.

It feels a little weird, Stanford's hands still have that chill to them, even while touching your sweaty body and your automatic reaction is to clench your thighs. But if you did that you would be denying your brother whatever he's sought out to do. You don't want that. You want the exact opposite of that.

It's not all the time Stanford takes the lead. If anything, you would've described him as the shy one in your relationship, always following and not one to start something below the belt. You wonder if it was the alcohol, if there wasn't anyway to coax this side of your brother while not drunk.

Kept in your musings, you didn't notice the slight shift in underwear until Ford dealt the first sinful lick.

You moan and your eyes zoom to the door. You tense, prepared to jump away at the first sound of footsteps but there are no footsteps. There's no one in the house. Ma and Pa are away at some shindig and it's just you and your brother until morning.

Your brother who's giving you this sexy look, arms looped around your thighs, blowing you for all he's worth. Your head falls back and hits the headboard and you wince but your brother won't let you feel the pain, too busy encasing your dick with intense heat, hot drool reaching the parts that his mouth can't.

You try not to overwhelm him. Out of the two of you Stanford has less experience giving blowjobs and usually it shows but tonight Stanford is all wet and sloppy and maybe that's just the way you like it. You don't know. All you know is that it's an effort not to slam into the back of your brother's throat as he moans and closes his eyes as if this is the best thing that's ever happened to him. You try not to squeeze him too tight with your thighs. Try not to let one of your hands guide the back of his head and push him onto your aching dick but it's almost as if Stanford wants you to.

You think that because he keeps moaning, keeps squeezing your thighs and begging you with his eyes. His brown eyes so hazy and it's like looking at pools of melting chocolate- like that one trip to that chocolate factory in third grade- so tempting that you just had to have a taste.

You ended up with sweet chocolate on your lips. And your face. And your clothes. Chocolate ended up everywhere and when your brother had asked you what you had to say for yourself, all you could say was, "Worth it."

Stanford is definitely worth it.

You try to warn Stanford when you feel the building pressure in your balls but your crossed ankles digging into his back doesn't exactly allow for an exit. Stanford doesn't argue though, his mouth opening to allow the come on his tongue. Another surprise that doesn't happen usually. You feel warmth as you watch your brother ease back, his mouth messy and swollen. Stanford looks wrecked and loving it so much that you wouldn't even blink if his underwear was damp with his own release.

It's not but there is a large tent. You feel tired and dirty, sweat and drool lingering on your body but you know you can at least give your brother a handjob without falling asleep. You know he deserves it after giving you such a nice night. You reach out but Stanford grabs you by the wrist and guides you to his hips. Then with his own hands he lifts your shirt a little higher until not only stomach is showing but so is your chest. He undoes his own pants with surprising ease, and you let him, your hands firm on his hips. He then straddles your belly, naked from waist down without shame and your breath catches because he looks beautiful. Head tilted down, cheeks flushed and wet mouth, cock erect and dripping onto your bare stomach.  You couldn't resist him if you tried. Good thing you'll never try.

His weight is solid on you but not unbearably solid. He bends forward, down to all fours, and starts kissing you and it should be so wrong, loving the taste of your semen on his tongue, but it doesn't bother you. Instead it keeps you going. And then, there's not another word for it, he starts to hump your stomach. It's a little rough, the only lubricant being Stanford's pre-come, and you feel a little weird being used like this but Ford distracts you with sloppy kisses and hands squeezing your biceps. Your hands are still on his hips but you don't know what to do with them so you let them travel under his button up.

Breathless, Stanford stops the kiss only to go the collarbone. He only places a few kisses there before he sinks even more southward. You moan as he licks your nipples, swirling his tongue around and over and nipping, just a hint of teeth. It all feels like too much for your over-sensitized body and your back arches, Stanford's glasses digging into your chest. Stanford moans, his thrusts becoming erratic. He's more laying on you now than actually propping himself up and you can feel the weight of him, his dick stuck between you and him, trapped in a thin space.

It doesn't take long for this new arrangement to have Stanford coming on your torso, panting and muttering nonsense. He slumps completely on you and you shove him to the side because while you love having your brother on you, your exhausted. With every harsh exhale you can feel your brother's come dripping off your oblong belly. You can't tell if that's gross or not but it doesn't matter because your eyes are slipping shut. Which is a bad idea because your parents are coming home bright and early the next morning and you do not want to leave so much evidence behind. And you don't trust yourself to wake up at the right time either.

That said, your eyes are drooping and your brother is already sleeping next to you, cuddled into your side. He looks so peaceful being so dirty and you want to be that same kind of peaceful too. You reach for the alarm clock on the nightstand and set it early, your fingers already slipping as you place the alarm back on the nightstand.

A little rest won't hurt.

\----------------------------------------------

When you wake up, your head is pounding. A constant ache that makes itself known in 1-1 beats. Your mouth, for some reason, tastes like toothpaste and you recognize enough of your surroundings, mainly the sail boat bed sheets, to know you're in Stanley's bed.

"What?" You murmur, screwing your eyes shut against the bare amount of light you let in.

"Rise and shine cupcake!"

The volume ricochet inside your brain like bullets and it tears through your skull so bad that you curl in yourself. You mewl, weak like a newborn kitten, but Stanley doesn't seem to care.

"Come on, I got some medicine and some water just for you!" You peek one eye open and you can make out the vague shape of your brother with a tray consisting of, what smells like breakfast, and a glass of water. You squint, propping yourself on your hands, the blanket falling from your shoulder, and the vague shape of the Ibuprofen pills reveals itself, right by the glass of water.

You take the pills and swallow them and when your head stops pounding from tilting your head back too fast, you search for your glasses. They're on the nightstand. You put them on and lie against the headboard, groaning.

"A little breakfast will cheer you up." Stanley says, placing the plate on his lap. Eggs, bacon, toast- just plain water though. They were probably out of orange juice.  "Don't make a mess though, I just cleaned the place up and Ma and Pops just called to say they're coming home in an hour."

That's right. You recall something about your parents being out of town. Then Stanley had gotten out of the drinks and there was the press of kisses, the feel of thick meaty hands on his head and thighs and a wonderful-

"Oh no." You moan, burying your face in your hands so you wouldn't have to look at your brother.

"So you _do_ remember last night."

"I am so sorry Stanley." You say, your face still covered by your hands. You can feel your whole face turning red. Stanley must think you're a freak. You let out a low whining whimper.

"Hey, no harm no foul Sixer. I liked it."

"You did?" Shocked, you lifted your head to look Stanley in the eyes. He had one bacon in his mouth, crunching at the slightly over cooked meat. Despite Stanley's initial warning not to make a mess in his bed, he was already leaving crumbs.

Stanley smirked, his grin too sharp and his eyes too full of intent. You swallow.

"You fucking me; using me for your own selfish pleasure, hair a fucking mess and grabbing me anywhere with a bit of chub?" Stanley's smile grew, and you freeze because Stanley's right in front of you, close enough to kiss and feeling you with his eyes. "Fuck yeah I loved it."

You don't know what to say but that's okay because Stanley holds a bacon to your lips and tells you to say, "Aah."

You oblige. The bacon tastes good, crunchy like you both like it. You chew on it for a bit and then ask, "Did you brush my teeth while I was asleep?" Your tongue licks across your teeth, suspiciously minty fresh.

"Yup." Stanley says, "And cleaned the sheets, and the beer cans, and gave you a little mini bath, and re-dressed you." He holds up a fork, a bit of scrambled egg on the end. "Say aah."

"Stan-" The egg plops into your mouth along with too much fork so it hits the too narrow entrance of your throat. You choke a bit before Stanley retreats. You chew while glaring at your brother smiles back at you. You wait until you swallow before asking, "Did I really sleep through all that?"

"Like a baby." Stanley says with a flourish, grin widening. "I didn't know exactly when Ma and Pops were coming home and I didn't think you wanted to greet them with stinky mouth and dirty pants and you weren't waking so..." Stanley trails off, "Sorry." He says without sounding sorry at all.

"No it's okay." More than okay, you think, as you imagine Stanford taking care of you.  The bed sheets are warm beneath you, most likely still fresh from the dryer. He had to have carried you somewhere else to put them back on, had to have washed you with a cloth and dressed you while you were dead to the world.

Embarrassment crawls through you but so does a shiver, and you don't know what about the image it paints into your mind that you like the most but you like it. You know you like it.

"Thanks for cleaning up." You say. The room looks clean, cleaner than normal. Your parents will know something is up but they would think it was something mundane compared to your two's true activities.

"No problem." Stanley says, kissing you on the cheek. He has another egg on a fork to serve and you open your mouth. This goes on for a while, no explanations, no offers to feed yourself. Somehow, you feel like you've learned a lot about yourself today.

"And don't feel bad about what you did Sixer." Stanley says, gathering the empty plate and trays, "You're not the only one with fantasies." He winks, bending down to place a kiss on your messy bed head. His head dips lower, right by your ear, "Let's explore our fantasies together. Okay?"

You shiver and before you can say anything, you both hear the front door open, "Honeys we're home!" Your mom's voice floats up to them. You can’t hear it, but you can imagine your father grunting behind her.

"Welcome home Ma!" Stanley's voice calls out as he leaves the room, tray in hand.

You sigh and count back from ten, willing your half-hard erection down.

**Author's Note:**

> IN other words I used the word 'your' 145 times. that's too many. Also originally for the ending I was gonna have Stanley corner Ford with his big strong arms and be like, "Now I have something against you Ford, now I know your weakness." and ford being sweaty and being like, "Oh no. he's found my weakness." BUT SOMEHOW IT TURNED TO THIS??? IDK.


End file.
